


Philia, Eros & Philautia: Luna

by elshollow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Coming Out, Hetalia Countries Using Human Names, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Relationships, Politics, Slow Burn, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elshollow/pseuds/elshollow
Summary: Roderich Edelstein is the ideal son. He is intelligent, handsome, hardworking, thoughtful, and above all, well-behaved. Being the sole heir to the Edelstein name, Roderich is destined for greatness as long as he is a respectable representative of his family- and he is nothing if not respectable.A spin-off ofAunque me hana dañothat focuses on the relationships between Roderich, Gilbert, and Eliza, as well as the political developments of the city. A coming of age story about different forms of love and acceptance through the eyes of youth.Companion piece to Philia, Eros & Philautia: Sol





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Roderich Edelstein and you are the ideal son. You are intelligent, handsome, hard-working, thoughtful, and above all, well-behaved. You are the envy of all the parents on your block- no, your city, even. ‘That Edelstein boy is destined for great things,’ ‘He brings nothing but pride to his family,’ ‘The epitome of the perfect child, and so young at that-‘ all statements you’ve heard at countless affairs your well-to-do parents have thrown in their gorgeous faux-mansion on the Eastside of town. 

You have an easy life. There is nothing left to be desired in the Edelstein household, from gourmet imported desserts and one-of-a-kind cutlery to custom memory-foam mattresses and a wardrobe of tailor-made clothing. All will be provided as long as you are a respectable representative of the family. And you are nothing if not respectable.

The sole heir of the Edelstein family name would graduate high school with the highest honors, as the valedictorian of his class and the president of (at least) a handful of clubs, having left all other students in the dust in a dignified and graceful manner. 

At least, that’s what your parents say- and anything they say is law. You don’t at all dislike your life. You come from a wealthy, political family and because of it are able to experience a great deal of things you wouldn’t have had you come from lesser means. Is it such a crime to enjoy the finer things in life? You are eager to please and eager to be rewarded- you have been nothing but the ideal son.

Which is why the decision to have you enrolled in a run-of-the-mill high school in the Westside of town instead of the competitive private school down the street came as a blow to your ego and self-esteem. What did you do wrong? You’ve done nothing but follow the path to greatness set forth by your parents, and suddenly you’re robbed of the education you’ve been working towards-no, deserved to have your entire life? When questioning your parent’s decision (a luxury you seldom divulge in), you were met with a challenge. 

‘You will be an example to the city, a symbol of the unity between the ever-widening rift between the East and West sides of town. In order for the city to believe the Edelstein family does not discriminate and in fact aims to foster a sense of unity within the town as a whole, you will attend a West side high school and with your talents, put the school on the radar as a place worthy of attending.’

You feel sick. For the first time in your life you are questioning your parent’s judgement. What good would it do to send you to the depths of the lion’s den just to serve as a symbol? To snatch away all of your colleagues, your education, your future job prospects, just to send you to some no-name school in the name of political interests? You feel empty. But you comply, and do not make a scene. You are the ideal son, after all.

________________________________ 

That was far from the end of surprises that summer would bring. The second came in the form of Elizaveta Hedervary and her family. Your fathers were apparently business partners years before you were born, and your father owed him a sort of debt you didn’t dare ask questions about. After a long evening of discussions behind closed doors, it was revealed to you that they would be staying in your guest house for an indefinite amount of time. The only child side of you twisted in your gut at the thought of sharing space with strangers, but it would be a cold day in hell before you showed any distaste. As per Edelstein tradition, you would be the perfect host.

Eliza- as she insists you call her, is an interesting girl. She came from wealth- though not nearly as much as your family, but due to some of her family’s poor investments, ended up without a roof over her head. She is Hungarian and has an endless love of sports and outdoor activities, but also enjoys the finesse of musical instruments. She is also an only child, cranky in the mornings, and a bit of a glutton, having a newfound appreciation for food after it became a near scarcity. She has a distaste for the formal and prefers a day of swimming competitions over a fancy dinner. 

“You know, I gotta say, I’m not too upset about everything.” she admits, sitting cross legged on your bed while you hang on her every word, seated properly upon your desk chair. “Like at the end of the day I get to finally get away from it all. No pleasing guests at parties or being well-behaved at investment dinners. Like, I don’t meant to be ungrateful or anything, but I like the idea of living off the land and stuff like that, so living in a back house feels pretty nice.” She chuckles, filling your room and heart with color for what feels like the first time in your life. “I know there’s a big difference between living off the land and downsizing, but you get what I mean!” She smiles wholeheartedly and throws herself back on your bed, “I wish I could be in the olympics, or something like that. Any sort of competitive sport. I saw you have a pool in the back, we should race sometime.” 

Hearing her story makes a knot twist in your stomach and bile rise in your throat- you’re not ignorant to the lives of the less fortunate, but to see the results firsthand and in the form of such a beautiful and strong young woman changes matters entirely. You feel woozy, high off her laughter and dazzled by her radiance.

She pats the bedside to her right, “Come lay down! I’m sure you’re not comfortable over there on your pretty chair.” She tilts her head up ever so slightly to meet your gaze, her expression filled with nothing but inviting warmth. She is a genuine spirit, something rare in your world of pleasantries and images. She stepped through your door not a week ago and is already a better host to your own household. You accept her invitation and lie back gently with your fingers interlocked over your stomach. You like it better when you’re both looking at the ceiling and she can’t make out your breathless countenance from her peripheral. 

“What do you want to be?” She breaks the drumming sound in your ears. 

“What do I want to be?” You trail off. 

“Yea, like, when you grow up. Doesn’t have to be realistic. It can be anything, your dream career or whatever, I said mine was the olympics. Preferably something to do with swimming.” 

“Huh. Something political, I figured. Maybe a mayor, or a congressman.” 

“Not even president? You dream real big, huh?” 

An involuntary snort escapes your nose, one you’re quick to stifle- but not quick enough. It’s rare for someone to tease you, and her boldness catches you off guard. 

“Really, though!” She laughs boisterously and whips around to face you, cheek propped on her palm. “Anything at all, ever, like, what would you say you wanted to be in elementary school?” 

You struggle to come up with anything not involving politics. It feels so familiar to you, like a muscle conditioned after years of performing the same action. It’s who you are- an Edelstein, your family name is nothing if not for its reputation. To deviate would be just short of a death sentence. Never something you considered seriously, but the looming awareness of the consequences of an alternate path never quite left your subconscious. Your parents would never condone you chasing a hobby, but she did ask for your wildest dreams, after all. 

“Piano.” You exhale wistfully. 

Her smile grows impossibly wider. “That’s more like it, what kind and where?” 

You let a part of yourself get lost in the daydream. Playing piano in an elegant theater, everyone wearing their Sunday best, eager to witness you pour your heart out via the breathtaking keys of your beloved instrument. You would gaze upon the standing ovation and absorb the roaring applause that would follow, taking solace in the fact that you’re able to communicate so effectively in the way that comes most naturally to you. You feel your nose prickle at the thought, never really realizing how deeply you desired to play into adulthood. Music is everything to you.

“I’d want to do solo shows. Grand piano. Just play and play and play every day until my hands couldn’t keep up. It would never feel like work.” Your heart is heavy with the impossibility of your dream. 

“I see…” She starts. “Are you any good?” 

You huff in amusement. “Am I any good? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” 

Eliza holds her hand up and shrugs, “Hey, just asking! You got a piano here, right? How about you prove it?” She grins deviously. 

“How about it?” You smile back. It takes all your self control to hide your giddiness and pace calmly downstairs, god forbid your parents see you running indoors. There’s a subtle skip in your step as you approach the music room and skillfully pick out the key from your jacket’s inner pocket as you’ve done countless times before. 

“Behold.” You extend an arm and invite her inside, her eyes glowing with excitement and wonder. This is your favorite room in the house by far, it was altered to have top-notch acoustics and is filled to the brim with nothing but the finest quality instruments- your favorite being the piano, of course. 

You pull out a seat for Eliza and promptly scurry over to plop down in front of your piano. Now, what to play for her? “Any requests?” 

She muses, “One of your favorites?” 

“Chopin it is” you smile. Maybe not your favorite musician of all time, but he’s your favorite to play right now, at least. You begin Prelude in E-Minor, elated to be reunited with the ivory-coated keys. The piece begins softly, but heavy with emotion. This is the first time you’ve played for someone, parents and teachers didn’t really count. With music, you wear your heart on your sleeve; no airs, no pleasantries, no facades for others. It’s all you, heart and soul, as cheesy as it may seem. Your head lulls along with the tempo of the music and you let your form slip in favor of accentuating certain notes with small flicks of your wrist. Without realizing, you forget you have an audience, and simply indulge in the music. As the song comes to a close, you picture your fantasy once more; you are the sole occupant of a vast stage, enchanting your viewers with your mesmerizing recital. You finish playing on the dot, given what you know was the perfect performance. You may have a big ego, but it isn’t without reason. After a few seconds of basking in the afterglow of a flawlessly executed piece, your trance is broken by a sniffle just outside of your field of vision. You whip your head around, alarmed by the unexpected sound, and are met with a sight that pulls at your heartstrings.

Tears stream down Eliza’s face, the glimmer reflecting off their path a jarring contrast to the puffiness of her eyes and her bright red nose. She blinks away the remaining tears at the precipice of falling and wipes away the streaks with the palm of her hand. 

“Thank you, for sharing that with me.” She finally states, with a surprisingly clear voice. “I’m no music expert but that’s some gift you’ve got there.”

“Sort of,” you start, then realize your rudeness and jolt up to grab her some tissues from a drawer across the room. “I don’t really like calling it a gift, per se… since that implies effortlessness. I don’t think there’s any shame in hard work, to put it one way.”

She takes a tissue and nods in thanks, blowing her nose loudly and unladylike before wrapping the used tissue in a clean one. “I totally agree with that, and I can definitely see your passion! You’d make a great musician. You may not believe it but it takes a lot to make me cry!” She ends with that intoxicating laugh. You let yourself smile genuinely once more, your muscles not quite used to the sensation. 

Eliza Hedervary is your new best friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the development of a long-lasting friendship.

You tuck your legs in painfully close, hellbent on touching the surrounding benches as little as possible. There is grime and loose grass on every surface in your field of vision, making you shiver with repugnance. Thank goodness you always carry sanitation wipes. 

Today is Eliza’s last day of soccer practice. Your parents were kind enough to order you both an Uber to her old city so she could say farewell to her friends and enjoy one final game with her team. Although completely out of your element, you’ve managed endure your discomfort into the second half on willpower alone. As soon as you start to dream of the comfort of your own home, free of gunk and insects and loud noises- you think of Eliza’s smiling face, and remember that you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else than here supporting her, sticky surfaces and all. 

She dashes across the field, seeming to have an endless supply of energy. Her position is that of defender- if you recall correctly, a title that seems rather appropriate for your kindhearted best friend. Eliza expertly weaves in-between her teammates and rivals alike, keeping anyone from getting past her to the goalie. Ever since the fifteen minute mark there has only been one goal, belonging to Eliza’s team; a surprisingly slow development for a sport that is so intense. What stands out to you is how no one shies away from physical pain; there have been multiple occasions where girls have been hit above the knee- the ball making an impact sound that reaches even the farthest members of the crowd. Eliza is clearly in her element, something that doesn’t necessarily surprise you, but that is a completely new experience seeing it up close and in person. 

You look at her dreamily, overjoyed by the fact that you have the privilege of witnessing more of her interests. She wipes sweat from her face, flushed with exhaustion and littered with smudges and grass stains. The once-white part of her shorts are stained to hell and back, each discoloration evidence of her tireless spirit. The glint of the sweat on her forehead is visible even from your position in the stands, as well as the drenched, darkened strands of loose hair that stick to her face. She looks absolutely filthy, yet you have never felt more elated to see her. 

Preoccupied by Eliza’s charm shining through even the grimiest of ensembles, you almost miss the scuffle at the other end of the field; a particularly rough exchange has injured one of the opposing team members. The referee makes her way to the aforementioned players to inspect the damage, though not in time to stop a player from the other team from confronting the offender. In the blink of an eye a fight has broken out, and Eliza has run across the field directly into the fray. You jolt up in concern, your muscles burning with strain as you try to get a better view of the developments. You feel your heartbeat in your throat and ears- nearly as deafening as the commotion the viewers have started. 

Having put herself between the two players, the rival girl pushes Eliza, an exchange that quickly leads to the two of them getting into a physical altercation of their own. Eliza’s hair is being pulled, there are scratches forming raised trails on her arms, and you swear you see splotches of green and purple beginning to form on her skin. Eliza does little damage, using her body to shield her teammate and pushing back when necessary. Your hands shake with adrenaline, rapidly building up with nowhere to be released. You are frozen, being tossed around like a limp husk of a person by the panicked crowd. The coaches and referee finally arrive at the scene, dispersing the fight for good. You see only spots of color and streaks of light, the field before you no longer an identifiable scene. 

After an endless few minutes of stern lectures and heated discussions followed by a five minute break, the game resumes. Eliza’s teammate was taken home early for a checkup, while Eliza and the initiator were benched. Your blood boils with discontent, frustrated at the outcome of the fight. This was supposed to be Eliza’s special day, a bittersweet sendoff and a step into her new life. Instead she is left with bruises and blood as souvenirs of her time spent on her team. 

The two of you sit in the car in silence. You reach for her hand and squeeze it lightly, “What you did was brave. I saw the way you moved, you were just defending yourself and your teammate.”

She keeps her gaze down, tugging on some loose skin on her lip, “I can’t just do nothing,” she begins halfheartedly, seemingly hesitant to speak at all, “I already know what my parents are going to say.” 

You turn your body to face hers, squeezing her hand again in reassurance. After a few seconds of regaining her composure, she continues, “They don’t care who started the fight or why, they always say I should know better than to get involved. They’re embarrassed of me and don’t let me go outside until I don’t have any more visible bruises.”

You look at her, on the brink of tears. Her parents are so unfair. 

“They say I’m too unladylike.” Her face twists, “Too violent. How could they or anyone care about me when I’m so reckless with myself.” 

You’re overcome with grief, and elect to take her hand in both of yours,“Eliza, you stood up for your teammate, even though you knew it would hurt you. Screw what your parents say, they’re stuck in the past. You don’t need to be ladylike to be worthy of love. To me, you are beautiful. You’re strong, you’re funny, and considerate, and I’m sure I won’t be the last person to see you for who you really are.” 

She looks at you, with those eyes that bring so much light to your life. “Thank you, Roderich.” She smiles, still sniffling, “Why does it feel like I’m always the one thanking you?”

You bring her hand up to your lips and kiss it lightly. Muddy, sweaty, bloody, and bruised, this is the girl that came into your life and showed you what it was like to feel genuinely happy. If anyone should be thankful, it should be you. 

Eliza Hedervary is the most beautiful girl in the world. 

________________________________

The summer that changed your life kicks off with you and Eliza enrolling in band camp at the same school, a development you’re much more excited about than you’d ever admit to someone that isn’t you or her. While you’re still discontent about having to go to the lesser school, you start to think it may not be that bad with the right company. Every morning you take the bus to practice together (a method of transportation you’re far from used to), ride home together, and spend the rest of your day chatting about whatever you please. You begin to feel like a normal high schooler, a once unwelcome change beginning to seem like the dawn of a promising four years. 

“Oh, wow, she’s stunning” Eliza comments as you scroll through Instagram. Her remark was regarding the daughter of a fairly well-known family of bakers your parents have done business with in the past. 

“Bella? Yes, but she doesn’t hold a candle to you.” You risk saying. 

“Ah, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Like what?” Now that has you confused. 

“Like I was comparing myself.”

“Huh…” You ponder her response. “What did you mean it like, then?” It’s a bona fide question, you hadn’t thought of a statement like that to mean anything other than Eliza possibly feeling insecure about her appearance. She is the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, inside and out, and you want her to be aware of that fact as well. 

“Like…” She trails off, seemingly struggling to find the right words. “Like she’s attractive, y’know? Easy on the eyes, like I like like her. Just based on looks, since I don’t know her at all” 

Like like? Sure, you were fresh out of middle school, but not young enough to still be using terms like that. Anyway, like like, as in, how she’d like a boy? 

“You mean, like how you’d like a boy?” You ask, puzzled.

“Yea, like that!” She exclaims. “Just, like, an attractive person.” She nods satisfactorily. 

You have some trouble wrapping your head around the concept. Sure, you’ve heard of gay people, but it’s something you have a hunch your parents have a distaste for (if comments you overhear during meetings are anything to go by), so you’ve been content not delving in on the subject. Plus, no one has ever caught your attention before, so any sort of romance or attraction was out of sight and out of mind. 

“So… you like girls?” You ask incredulously. 

“Guess so.” Eliza states casually. “Never really thought about it much, but, yea, guess I do.” She taps the end of her pencil to her lips and returns to the music sheets splayed across your bed. “This is the part I’m having trouble with,” she accentuates the remark by lightly circling the aforementioned section on her sheet. “Nothing I can do but practice, I suppose.”

“Hold on, have you ever kissed a girl before?” Your tongue slips before your mind has the time to catch up with you’ve exposed. 

“What? No, dude, I just said I hadn’t thought about it much. I haven’t kissed anyone, I’m barely gonna start high school.” It hits you that you haven’t talked to Eliza about anything romantic, nor have you considered your own feelings. You really just enjoyed spending time with her, and hadn’t thought your feelings to be any more than admiration or friendship. A chill reverberates across your entire body at the question that surfaces in the back of your mind and fights its way to the forefront of your consciousness. 

Do you have a crush on Eliza Hedervary? 

A wave of nausea hits you. This is the worst possible outcome. Do you have a crush on your best friend? “I’ll be right back” You mumble before jetting to the restroom, not waiting to hear her response. 

Cold, sobering water hits your face, and you look up at yourself in the mirror. Your breathing speeds up. How the hell could you have let this happen- something as distracting as a high school crush? A montage of movie scenes and lectures from your parents overwhelm your mind. Crushes on best friends always ruin friendships. They lead to nothing but pain and regret and heartbreak. You want to stop existing. One life-changing summer just turned into the most dreaded few months of your teenage life. And what of her liking girls? Would she get a girlfriend one day, and suddenly not have enough time for you? Your rides back home would have a plus one, or worse, you’d be a third wheel, gradually being phased out of the friendship. Your nose heats up at the thought of losing Eliza, of being alone again. You never realized the extent of the solitude that permeated your life until someone came and snatched you out of it. Oh Roderich Edelstein, you are an idiot. 

A few swift knocks on the door startle you out of your pit of despair, a thankful albeit disorienting return to reality.

“I know you’re not using the bathroom. What’s up, Roderich?” Her tone may be level but the concern in her voice is obvious to you. You can’t deny her your presence. 

You open the door with resignation heavy on your mind. Dishonesty is the upmost disrespect, especially in the case of best friends, so it’s time for you to bite the bullet. 

“Eliza,” you start, taking her calloused hand in yours and meeting her gaze, as painful as it may be. “I really don’t know any other way to say this, but, I think I may like you. Romantically.” The last word felt like pulling teeth, but it must be said. You maintain eye-contact, albeit with a crease in your eyebrows. You allow yourself the luxury of showing your emotions in front of Eliza.

“….And?” She adds, quizzically, still holding your hand.

“And?” You tilt your head. “And…. that’s it. I think I may like you romantically.” You repeat for emphasis. Maybe she didn’t hear you correctly? 

“Okay, well, what about it? What’s got you so worked up?” She pulls at your hand gently and gestures for the both of you to sit down, cross legged as she likes to sit so often. 

“Well, I just.” That’s a first, you’re at a loss for words. How could she not understand the implications of your confession? “Crushes…. lead to broken friendships. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what to do.” You feel absolutely defeated, but take comfort in having the topic out in the open. You hope your feelings don’t get lost in translation this time. 

Eliza smiles, in that wholehearted way that makes your heart soar. “Rod, you’re not going to ‘lose me,’ or whatever” she air quotes with her free hand, “we’re best friends, and I love you too much to let any silly crushes get in between our friendship.”

You tense at her statement. ‘Love?’ You love your parents, and piano, and, well, not many other things. But do you love Eliza? 

That’s easy, of course you do. 

And she’s right, all those experiences of crushes leading to lost friendships didn’t involve you and your best friend in the entire world.

“I love you too.” You emphasize with a squeeze of your hand. You could handle this. 

“So, what do you want to do?” She asks, still meeting your gaze.

“I’m not sure,” you respond honestly. You didn’t really have a game plan, with this being an epiphany and all. “Well, first off, I want to apologize. Hearing you say you like girls the same way you like boys made me feel a little jealous, I suppose? Or, insecure, rather. Like one day we wouldn’t be as close anymore.”

“Ok, I can see why you’d be worried. But it’s true, I may have a girlfriend- or boyfriend one day, but you might too. And would you honestly say you’d stop hanging out with me, or ditch me altogether if you suddenly started going out with someone?”

The situation seems silly when presented that way. “Of course not.” You look down sheepishly, your shame winning over your dignity. How could you be so doubtful? So insecure? 

“That’s what I thought.” She takes your other hand into hers. “Did you… want to try dating each other?” 

The thought, admittedly, doesn’t sit quite right with you. You love Eliza to death but the thought of having an actual girlfriend makes you kind of want to throw up. Something about it feels off. “Well… no, not really.” Dishonesty is the upmost disrespect and all. 

“No problem” she smiles, still authentic, “Did you want to try kissing?” 

Well, that involved less commitment, that’s for sure. The idea doesn’t feel especially appealing, nor revolting. You’re not a particularly neutral person but you can’t for the life of you pinpoint what you want. So why not give it a shot? 

“Ok, let’s do that.” You decide fairly quickly. Can’t hurt to try.

“Alrighty then,” Eliza leans forward slowly, releasing your hand and cupping your cheek in her palm. Your nerves overtake your senses again as you tread into unknown territory. You use your free hand to brace yourself on the bathroom tile, leaning into her and closing your eyes. 

You feel her slightly chapped lips meet your own, and take a mental note of yet another one of her many charms. Her top lip is above yours, and after a second or two, you really don’t know what else to do. People in the movies make it look so easy. Before you know it, you snort involuntarily, and feel her bubbling laughter against your growing smile. 

The two of you break apart in an uproarious laughter, you cover your face with your hand and she leans back against her elbows. You can’t stop laughing, the joy coiled in your chest spilling out involuntarily. How could you be so ridiculous? 

You both eventually calm down, stomachs sore with the aftermath of your jovial exchange. You lay back against the cool tile, finally exhaling the last of your laughter. Bracing your arms against the ground, you push yourself up and extend a hand to Eliza, still laying on the carpet, beautiful face framed by her stunning grey-brown locks.

She takes your hand and pulls herself up, smiling at you before pulling you into a full embrace. 

“Let’s promise to be friends not matter what, Roderich.” She smiles into your shoulder, lowering one arm and extending her pinky. 

“I promise,” you return the gesture, sealing your vow. 

Eliza Hedervary is your first love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, I swear this is a PruAus fic, their bits will come in due time. If you are a fan of reeeeeaaaalllyyy slow burn, then you will love how this fic plays out. Thank you for reading so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Festivities and revelations are afoot.

From that day forward you and Eliza are inseparable. Having discovered a platonic love stronger than you ever thought possible, you return to face the world with a newfound confidence. You will never be alone, and knowing you provide the same comfort to your best friend has you practically bursting at the seams. Your summer days are filled with a rosy haze.

“You really enjoy stuff like this?” Eliza fusses in her seat, doing everything in her power to sit still. You brush her hair back assertively but with finesse, taking good care to not pull on the (many) knots. 

“I do, for the most part- it really depends on who’s invited” You get caught on a particularly unruly lock and switch tools, combing it lightly until the hairs fall back into their rightful place. “It’s just a fundraiser, so it shouldn’t be super formal.”

“Formal enough to warrant a complete makeover,” She huffs, wincing at an accidentally rough tug. 

“Sorry.” You readjust your hand position spray a little more water onto her ends, “Though I doubt cleaning the dirt from under your nails and brushing your hair counts as a complete makeover.”

“And the dress.”

“Of course, how could I forget.” a smile tugs at your lips. While you’re no fan of the implications of the formalities during your family’s events, it isn’t in your nature to pass up an opportunity to dress to the nines; it makes you feel in your element. You take pride in your appearance, not just as an extension of your family name, but as your own person. Had your family affairs been filled with more people like Eliza as opposed to money-hungry rival households and investors with fake smiles plastered across their faces, you would be overjoyed to attend. Your social stamina may be significantly higher than your physical stamina, but it isn’t infinite. 

“Just a few hours, right? Then after we can eat all the leftovers,” she grins. You and Eliza are opposites in many ways- your stamina being but one aspect. While she is no stranger to a formal affair, she absolutely loathes having to put on airs and be the ‘perfect little girl.’ She is much more accustomed to the rigors of the outdoors and even enjoys a good-natured scuffle. Whereas you essentially thrive in the matters of the wealthy and cringe to think of a night out camping in the mountains or anything coming close to resembling a physical altercation. It’s as if you both heard the phrase, ‘treat your body like a temple’ and ran with it in completely different directions. She pushes her physical strength to its limit and takes comfort knowing she wouldn’t be defenseless if someone were to come charging at her for whatever reason; while on the other hand, you take note of your daily caloric intake and make sure to moisturize every day. It’s like you are the prince and she is your knight in shinning armor. 

“Yes, then we can eat all the leftovers.” You finally tie her hair in a high ponytail and clip on two pink flowers to the right of her bangs. 

“Pink today? You’re really trying to make me look presentable.”

“Warm colors go well with the color of your hair.” You respond matter-of-factly. 

“Alright” She straightens up, brushing all the loose hairs off her lap. “Let’s do this,” You hold your elbow out for her to place her hand through, never forgetting to be ever the gentleman. 

The two of you walk down your spiral staircase into the hustle and bustle of party preparations. The guests will be arriving soon, and your mother is making sure all the final details are in place. The sign-in sheet is ready at the door with plenty of extra pens, platters of food are placed on the table in an easily accessible and aesthetically pleasing manner, and any last speck of dust is thoroughly removed from the blinds. Everything will be in place and on time, just as usual. 

Today’s event is an invitation-only fundraiser for a Christmas festival a council member plans on setting up later this year. Your little town is in great need of community events, and what better idea than a party during the happiest time of the year. It will be held in a strategic location, of course. A park that sits right in the middle of the city, so as to not feed into the dissent between the wealthy Eastside and the ‘modest’ Westside, as you routinely put it. The irony of a Christmas party fundraiser isn’t lost on you, not once has a Christmas tree been present in your household, nor will it ever. You’ve never felt compelled to celebrate, since your family has its own religious traditions, but you admit you enjoy the general ambiance of the season. You genuinely hope the fundraiser is a hit and you’re able to see the fruits of your family’s labor. 

You and Eliza share the table by the entrance and take turns greeting the guests and handing them the appropriate name tags. It’s important that these people feel recognized and well-received from the moment they step through the door. They are no longer names on a computer screen, they are your guests. 

Despite being impartial (to put it lightly) to fundraisers, Eliza is still by your side, holding down the fort and keeping you company. You make a mental note to get her a thank you gift for all the events she’s put up with. 

Occasionally an interesting name passes through, and once they’re out of earshot, you share a bit of gossip with your plus one. “That man used to be on good terms with my family, but we caught wind of rumors he was going to spread to some of our clients. My money’s on him attending only because he got caught.”

“Oooh” She leans in and whispers, “I bet you guys’ll get a big donation from him tonight!”

“Upwards of a thousand, I’m sure.”

The next few guests are fairly uneventful. Most are fellow business people you’ve known since your early elementary years, some are potential business partners from the wealthier side of town, and others are the leaders of other community projects. Your job for the past few years has essentially been data management, it serves as an easy way for you to get acquainted with past and potential clients and to gradually transition into the political world yourself. You always remember who to greet with a hug or firm handshake, who to stand up for and make small talk with, who to flash your picture-perfect smile to and nothing more. You take pride in your work and never disappoint.

“Oh, take note of this man,” You whisper to Eliza before standing. “It’s a pleasure to see you again Mr.Claes!” 

“Roderich! I see your parents have you working hard, son.” You exchange the perfect handshake, then present him with his name tag.

“Of course, I’m happy to be here. How are your kids doing?”

“Govert is starting his third year and Bella is joining him as a freshman. My youngest is just about to finish up elementary. Actually, Bella will be going to the school right down the street, so you may see her soon.” 

An instinctive smile spreads across your face as a dreadful chill runs through your body. Yes, you’d personally come to terms with going to a school in the West side, but it felt different when the news came from an outside source. It was as if he hammered down the last nail on the proverbial coffin. Shame threatens to taint your expression, but you’re no stranger to upholding facades. “I’ll actually be going to a school in the West side,” you politely correct, “But I’m very happy to hear they’ll be close by. I’m assuming they’ll be taking the business administration track?”

“Really? That’s a surprise. And yes, they’re sharp, those two. Much better than their old man, it makes me really happy that they want to take over the bakery some day.” He’s beaming with pride. You fight the sickly feeling brewing in your gut- jealousy is an unsightly shade on you. 

“They’re lucky to have you. And hey, nothing beats experience!” 

“That’s true! I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve!”

“Well I’m sure they’re not as good as yours, Mr. Claes, but we do have lots of desserts here tonight, please help yourself and make yourself at home!” You end cheerfully, showing him the way to the kitchen with a guiding hand. 

“Thanks, great seeing you!” He strides away, waving goodbye to you and Eliza. His figure is quickly lost in the crowded living room. You plop back into your seat more forcefully than intended.

“Still bitter?” Eliza startles you. 

“About what?” You freeze up, still looking forward at the spreadsheet of names on your laptop. There are only a handful of absent guests. 

“Not going to that private school. Rod, you’re not exactly the best at hiding things.” You take offense at that, “At least not to me.” Ok, that’s a little more acceptable. 

“No-well. Kind of. Not in the way I used to be.” Your hands begin to clam up, and you resign yourself to the conversation, meeting Eliza’s gaze. “It just caught me by surprise, is all. I care a lot of what other people think of me. And what they’ll think is that I wasn’t good enough to get in, like it’s some sort of punishment or consolation prize.” 

“I think it’s less what people think of you and more your own internalized distaste.” What? “I’m really sorry you couldn’t go to your dream school, but you treat our high school is like it’s a shithole. It’s pretty condescending, and this isn’t the only thing you treat that way.” 

Your head spins with guilt and shame. You didn’t mean it like that, right? Were you really that transparent? For your true feelings to present themselves so clearly, even after you did everything in your power to suppress them? What stings more is that you’re not sure if you feel worse about your feelings themselves or being found out. 

“We’ll make the best of it, Rod. Give it a chance.” She holds her pinky out, a reminder of your promise to each other. You return the gesture and breathe out the tension in your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry, Eliza, I really don’t mean to be rude. Thank you for telling me, and please keep calling my attention if I act like that again.” Her smile is your pilot light. What kind of person would you have become if you hadn’t met Eliza? You don’t like to dwell on that train of thought. 

“‘Course,” She teasingly punches your shoulder (very) lightly, always conscious of your comfort and wellbeing even with the smallest of gestures. 

The last few guests arrive fashionably late, finally releasing you and Eliza to freely roam about the party. She not-so-discreetly makes a beeline for the food, filling her plate to the brim with assorted breads. You immediately take a sample of all the available cheeses, a treat you rarely get to enjoy outside of big events like these. You may be wealthy but you’re still ‘stingy,’ as Eliza likes to call it, and never ask for luxury snacks, or rather, any snack that is priced even slightly above what you’d consider reasonable. 

The two of you return to your post, spoils in hand, and continue your tradition of people watching until the fundraiser ends. 

“Oh, so, that was Bella’s dad. The girl I pointed out on Instagram that one night, right?” Eliza asks through bite fulls of bread. 

“Yup. Her dad owns a bakery on the West side, pretty well-liked and well-known throughout the city. I hear they’re considering opening a second location. Probably won’t be any time soon, though, since his oldest kids are still in high school.” 

“That would be nice, I like bread.” she munches thoughtfully. 

A couple catches your eye and you discreetly motion over to them, “Those two have been dating for a few months now, but I doubt it’ll last. The woman is from the city I used to live in and is pretty well known within the local government as an event planner, budget consultant, and former accountant. She has crazy connections for the world she works in, and if I remember correctly, the man she came with tonight has been trying to get his foot in the door as a councilman the past two elections. His propositions show he’s out of touch with government spending and would be a disaster for the city’s finances. She’s way out of his league and frankly I’m surprised they got together in the first place. “

“Wow, it’s like you read me the synopsis of a novella. Politics is something I’d never wanna get involved with. Feels too much like a show.”

“Well, it is. And now that I’ve thought about it more, I can’t see myself actively enjoying running for office, but I would like to still be a part of politics somehow. Maybe as like, a commissioner or something along those lines.” 

“Yea, that sounds more palatable, but still not for me. I’ll walk for you if you do decide to run, though.” You smile at the sentiment; that’s no easy commitment, but you don’t have a doubt in your mind she means it. 

“Also, speaking of relationships, you have’t gone out with anyone before, right?” She asks casually. You fumble the toothpick in your hand and nearly let your cheese slip to the floor.

“No way, I never had time for anything like that. Correction- still don’t have time for anything like that.” It baffles you how she could talk about such… intimate subjects so effortlessly. 

“But you’ve had crushes, right?” 

You stay silent. 

“Right, Rod?” she turns to you, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I…think so? I mean, I thought I had a crush on you, that counts.” 

“No, it doesn’t. I’m talking about an actual crush, or affinity, or however you wanna word it. It can be superficial- actually, it usually is.”

“Well, I think plenty of women are beautiful. There have been lots of gorgeous women at the events I’ve gone to, especially.” You can feel yourself scrambling for proof. 

“Any girls your age?”

You shrug, sweat building on your neck. 

“This may be a surprising question for you, but, have you ever considered you _may_ be gay?” 

“What? No, of course not,” you spit out too fast.

“And why is that?” She leans her elbow on the table, her palm supporting her chin as she stares right through you. 

“Well, it’s, because it’s… wrong,” you end haphazardly. 

“Bullshit, you don’t actually believe that. If you thought it was so wrong would you really have a gay best friend?” 

Ok, she has a point. You don’t actually think it’s wrong, you’re just recycling what you’ve heard during sermons and from your parent’s private affairs. The topic of being gay was neatly filed away in your brain like so many other taboo subjects. 

“It doesn’t feel right to think about, I know my family doesn’t approve so what’s the point of even looking into it? Plus, I have high school to focus on, relationships or crushes or whatever aren’t relevant.”

“Maybe not before, but they will be. You’ll be surrounded by it, even if you’re not directly involved.” The heavy look on your face betrays your inner turmoil. “Roderich, you remember our promise?” 

“Best friends no matter what.” 

“Best friends no. Matter. What. And that includes whatever romantic- or sexual, inclinations you may or may not have.”

“Sexual?!” You exclaim in a loud whisper, “since when were we referring to…. _that?”_

“I’m teasing you, dude! Really, though. This seems like something that’s been weighing down on you for a while. I just want to help you in any way I can.” 

You reach for her free hand under the table and stroke it gently with your thumb. “Thank you. I’ll think about it, and you’ll be the first to know about any discoveries.”

She shines you one of her signature smiles and squeezes your hand in response. 

“Best friends no matter what?” 

“Best friends no matter what.” 

________________________________

‘Am I gay?’

‘How to tell if you’re gay’

‘Gay quiz’

‘Top 10 signs you’re gay’ 

Your search history is littered with the evidence of your soul-searching. 

Are you gay? 

For the first time in your life, you’ve decided to sit down and seriously consider the million dollar question. You’ve never looked at other boys before- but was it out of disinterest or a suppressed urge? Ugh, you’re seldom this unsure of yourself. It’s a simple question- a question that has taken up valuable space in your consciousness for the past few weeks. Summer was nearing its end, band practice was almost over, and you were supposed to relax for the rest of your days.

“Eliza, this is ridiculous.” You huff and sink into your bed. 

She responds from the floor, absentmindedly tapping away on her laptop. “What is?” 

“Am I gay?” 

She snorts, and her typing stops. “Still wracking your brain over that one, huh? Lemme help you out, just gimme a sec. ” 

You shift your position, laying on your stomach and facing down at Eliza. “How did you know so easily? You literally just said, ‘I guess so,’ and that was it. After seeing one picture of a pretty girl.” You never thought you’d be envious of someone’s self assuredness. 

“We’re pretty different people, so I’m not surprised.” She moves to sit with her legs crossed and shows you her phone, screen full of photos from a modeling page. “How do you feel when you look at these women? Take your time.” 

You scroll through the various images. Some of the women catch your eye. “She’s very pretty, and she is too.” 

“Great, do you feel like doing anything with them? Like holding hands or kissing?” 

You frown at the ideas. You just think they’re beautiful, and feel content looking at them. “I think I just like beauty.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like you.” She nods, taking back her phone and bringing up another page. This one features only male models, all well-built and showing a fair amount of skin, with a few fully-clothed in between. “How about these?” 

You scroll through the page, and are fully aware of the second your face betrays your thoughts once again. 

“Interesting.” She states, deadpan. 

Oh, she knows what she’s done. You try to keep scrolling nonchalantly, but what really delivers the finishing blow is a man in a tailored suit, leaning against a leather couch, backlit ever so slightly to accentuate his silhouette. Who knew you’d be so predictable. Not you, that’s for sure. You groan and let your head and arms slouch off the bedside. 

Eliza takes back her phone, intent on perpetuating your suffering. She slides it back into your limp hand, which you reluctantly receive and hold up to your face. “Check out this artist.” 

Your parents have enrolled you in an art history class before, but you’re not familiar with this artist. The images you’re presented with are all painted traditionally, with fairly prominent line work used to render shadow and changes in hue. You primarily see pictures of men, adorned with suits sported in a casual fashion. There’s something about the way the figures are aligned, the way the fabric of their shirts folds so nicely over their toned bodies that entrances you. The graphic rendering of their hair and suits, the juxtaposition between the feathery gradients over soft curves and loose, thick brushstrokes all come together to highlight the clear stars of the pieces- men. 

You didn’t realize how long you were staring until Eliza’s hand, reaching for her phone, breaks into your field of vision. You hand it back to her with lead in your hands, not at all content with parting with your new favorite artist nor his enticing subjects. 

“So… What did you think?” 

“You know the answer to that.” 

She places a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, “Welcome to the club.” 

Your name is Roderich Edelstein and you are gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> The artist mentioned at the end is J.C. Leyendecker! I hope my description did his work justice


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend makes a reappearance

You feel reborn. You have everything you could ask for- you have a best friend, you’re at peace with your newfound sexuality, and your parents are beginning to give you more responsibilities. Each day presents a new challenge that you pass with flying colors- everything is once again perfect in the Edelstein household. 

You feel confident. Inspired. Motivated. Your friendship with Eliza has made you view relationships differently. While no one in your life has come close to impacting you as much as her, there are a few friendships you feel are worth revisiting- after some egging on from Eliza’s part. She insists there’s merit to viewing your peers as friends instead of potential business partners at your tender young age of 14. Which brings you to today, to your appointment with a young man named Vash Zwingli. 

Vash used to be what many people would refer to as your closest friend, if only for the reason that you, he, and his little sister would spend time together often during and after school. Admittedly you’ve always found him to be a little insufferable- a trait that many your age would say you possess as well. You laugh internally at the thought of you two being stuck together in your own corner of hell, eternally damned to drive each other crazy. It would work. 

You take a sip of your tea, making a conscious effort to not fidget in your seat as you await his arrival. Coffee shops are a good neutral location, you remember explaining to Eliza. Meeting in either of your houses would feel too intimate, too close to revisiting a time when you saw the Zwingli household as a second home. You feel a bittersweet ache build deep in your stomach and fight against a conflicted sense of nostalgia following suit. You hadn’t realized how close you actually felt to them until revisiting the memories. 

You and Vash didn’t have some dramatic fallout or tragic farewell. In fact, your friendship never really _ended_ , it just faded gradually. You have an inkling that your parents eventual lack of eagerness to schedule playdates with the Zwingli children had something to do with the family business but you never pushed it, being that you were just a child and were far from understanding the intricacies of familial alliances. You trust that your parents had your best interests at heart. Though on the other hand, they never outright said to avoid the Zwingli family, so you’ll probably be fine if you rekindle a friendship. _Probably_. 

A familiar flash of blond hair by the entrance snaps you back to the coffee shop and your instincts waste no time taking over. You stand gracefully and extend a hand in greeting, a gesture that you are aware seems odd to most others your age but is second nature to you after years of acclimation. Anything less would be a sign of disrespect; and thankfully, the Vash you remember shares a similar perspective. 

“Roderich.” He states with a hint of apprehension. You take no offense at his natural scowl and instead are able to exhale some of your anxiety, taking comfort in the familiarity. Little has changed about him; you want to scoff after noticing almost immediately that you’re taller than him now. 

“Vash, nice to see you again.” You manage to smile. He scans you up and down while taking your hand, discretion far from being a concern. 

“Still impatient.” His eyes motion to your drink. You huff in amusement, Vash is like Eliza in the sense that he is fully capable of being a model child of a well-to-do family but doesn’t care to put up airs on his personal time. Deep down you know you could never indulge in the same behavior. You push aside the inklings of envy beginning to cloud your vision and get back to business. Or rather, get back to…. _friendship?_ Ugh, everything about the situation feels so foreign. 

“Only you would ever call me impatient.” You muse. Vash narrows his eyes and plops down onto the booth side of your table. 

“Why did you ask to hang out?” He cuts to the chase. You really don’t know what you expected. You will your hand to steady as you pull your chair back and join him. 

“To do just that.” You respond, taking a sip from your tea and glancing up through your lashes. 

He clicks his tongue and whips his gaze towards the nearest window, face slightly flushed. Oh Vash, you think endearingly. Always so easily overwhelmed. 

“Don’t pretend like you have any friends.” He spits unexpectedly. You scrunch your eyebrows slightly in confusion. It stings more than you thought it would- a few months ago and you would have taken such a statement as a compliment. Now all it takes is one sentence and you’re knocked off your metaphorical horse. 

“Well.” You start somewhat awkwardly, “I have Eliza, and you, and E-“ 

He cuts you off with a cruelly boisterous laugh. “Really?” He doesn’t make eye contact. “I don’t know who Eliza or whatever is but if you treat her like you treated me and Erika then you must really not have any friends at all.” 

Now that starts to make you visibly upset. Your voice is strained even while exercising the upmost self control, “What are you talking about?” 

“Hah!” He whips back at you, nose red and voice accusatory, “You ditched us, genius.” 

“Ditched you?” Your voice has a will of its own. 

Vash rolls his eyes and sinks into his chair slightly, most likely exasperated by his brief outburst. “Elementary school. We’d all spend time together every week, almost every day after school. Then one day you were just gone. No goodbye, no text, no nothing. You barely talked to me and Erika in middle school, now I never see you at all, then all of a sudden you text me saying you want to hang out? Like nothing even happened?” 

The puzzle pieces begin to fit together, and the following sense of guilt is suffocating. 

You abandoned Vash. 

“I’m… I’m sorry.” You trail off. You both look anywhere but at each other. This is different than having a difficult conversation with Eliza. There’s no sense of unease or uncertainty with her, you know that both of you love each other and ultimately want to work though your problems. If anything, any issue strengthens the foundation of your friendship. But Vash is ruins. Damaged, cracked, wounded by you. And the worst part is you had no idea. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t mean to.” Nothing you could say could piece together your laughable excuse of a friendship. 

“So?” He asks after a long period of silence. So? You ask yourself internally. You meet his eye line once again, asking for clarification with your gaze. “So, what happened? Why? Where did you go?” 

The least you can do is provide an explanation. The least you can do is try. “Well, before I knew it my parents wouldn’t schedule playdates as often. I would ask to visit but they’d put it off for whatever reason, and eventually I felt it was best not to pry. I trust they had their reasons.” 

“Why now?” He crosses his arms, countenance frustrated and hurt. Eliza has taught you to be kind. 

“Because I wanted to. Because I miss you and Erika.” There are no walls. There are no pleasantries, feigned emotions or forced smiles. You look at Vash, and let yourself feel. You know he is hot-headed, but he is not merciless. 

Vash turns back to the window, calmer this time. Anxiety wastes no time brewing in your gut. Did you say the wrong thing? Did you let your guard down too quickly? Let yourself be too vulnerable? Get lost in the sincerity of it all? You start to picture your life with Eliza as your only friend, and accept the fact that she’s the only person who will ever tolerate you. 

“Erika misses you too.” Vash continues looking out the window. For the second time tonight you’re taken aback. “She still asks about you. She wants to hear you practice playing piano sometime.” 

“Tell her she’s welcome any time.” You smile. Visually, Vash and Erika could almost pass as twins, though personality-wise they couldn’t be more different. Which makes sense, considering the Zwingli family adopted her when you and Vash were in early elementary school. He has always been fiercely protective of her, the fact that he still is makes your nose sting with nostalgia. 

“I’ll check our busy schedule and see if we can make time for you.” He sniffles.

“Oh? Did I say you were invited too?” You tease. 

“Jokes? That’s new.” Vash finally lets out a chuckle. 

“I’ve learned a few.” You grin. 

Vash hardens his gaze slightly and crosses his arms,“Seriously, though. I’m glad you’re thinking for yourself now.” 

“What do you mean?” Vash insists on taking you on a roller coaster of emotions tonight. 

“Your parents. You trust them too much. You’re smart but you don’t think for yourself. The fact that you’re here today shows you’re changing.” 

“They’re my parents.” You state flatly. “They have knowledge beyond my years, more than I could ever imagine. It would be stupid not to trust them. And as for today… they never said not to spend time with your family, specifically.” 

“I’m not saying don’t trust them at all, I’m just saying you should start to question what they say. Not in a bad way, in a kid growing up kind of way.” Vash meets your gaze, eyes stern but absent of anger. “I figured your parents had told you to stop hanging out with us, or something like that. I’m not mad about that. I just didn’t expect you to disappear without telling us anything. I know we were little, but I thought we meant more than that to you.” 

You look down and dissect his advice. Were you really too blindly loyal? Eliza had hinted at it before, when asking what you wanted to be- apart from your parent’s wishes. Maybe it was something to consider further. “I’ll think about it.” You respond honestly. “And I really, truly am sorry. I want to be friends, and I promise I won’t disappear on you again.” 

“‘I’ll think about it’ is way more than I would have gotten from you years ago.” Vash sighs with a smile. 

“Naive of you to think I would ever stop growing.” You grin back. 

“If you were a sin you’d be pride.” 

“I’d rather be pride than wrath.” 

You both laugh, heartfelt and free. For the first time since meeting Eliza, you start to imagine a life with normal, functional friendships. Your future of being isolated at the top feels like more of an unlikely possibility than a certainty. Though excited for the most part, you also begin to worry. The threat of loss looms in your subconscious, of how you made Vash and Erika feel without even realizing. You grip your cup and let the heat ground you. 

“So,” Vash starts, gesturing for the two of you to go to the front counter. You follow him, desperate for any topic of conversation to derail your train of thought. “I didn’t see you at orientation, were you sick?”

“Orientation? Oh, for high school?” Right, Vash didn’t know, “I’m going to school in the Westside.”

“What the hell, really?” Vash looks at you, wide-eyed, “Why?” He politely places his order, and you both return to your seats. 

You look intently at the steam rising from your tea, much thinner and transparent than before. “My parents wanted me to. To show our family isn’t out of touch with the Westside of town.” 

“That’s stupid.” Years ago you would have jumped to your parent’s defense, but lately you admit that part of you, deep down, has started to question. Their decision to send you to a Westside high school had made you feel uneasy since the moment they broke the news to you, but you essentially let it happen without a complaint. You let your contempt be inconsequential. 

“I still wonder about it sometimes.” You take a thoughtful sip of your tea, and decide that’s all you’re going to say on the matter. “What are you going to focus on in school?” 

Vash is silent for a few moments before responding. Enough for you to notice, but not long enough to comment on, thankfully. You’ve long since grown tired of the pitiful stares that often accompany the revelation of the aforementioned news. The last thing you want from Vash now is pity. “Information technology. Erika thinks she’ll do the same when she’s our age.” 

“Wow, that’s amazing.” Your comment isn’t mere flattery, you really do think it’s worthy of praise. You’re not exactly as well-versed in using technology as many others your age- no one in your family is, despite how dependent you all are on it. 

“Yeah, it’s a lot of fun. There’s a lot you can do with it too.” Vash nods proudly. “Developing, managing, creating, you name it, and to top it off it all pays well.”

Vash had shown an interest in technology from a young age and Erika was always eager to emulate him, you recall affectionately. Part of you envies the fact that his hobby also happens to be something with practical applications and with the likely possibility of resulting in a lucrative career. Just another reminder that music will forever be out of your reach. 

“What track did you pick?” He asks innocently.

“We don’t have tracks, it’s all general education. I did join band, though. Or rather, I’m going to.” 

“Really?” He asks, surprised. “Your parents really want you to go there that bad?”

You begin to feel the hardness of your seat, the chilliness of the air, and the subtle brush of fabric against your skin. You are hyper-aware of your surroundings, feeling like a test subject displayed over a table under a blinding light to be poked and prodded. Having to explain why you didn’t go to an Eastside school never failed to make you feel like a disappointment, a failure, a nobody falling behind the rest of the world. Your conversation with Eliza opened your eyes to your narrow-mindedness, but it doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly going to feel better from one day to the next. 

“Roderich?” You hadn’t realized you’d forgotten to respond. 

“Yes- yes, they had their reasons. I’m making the best of it.” You want to talk about anything but this. “How is Erika?” 

“Good.” Thankfully, Vash finally takes the hint. “She just got two new cats, actually.”

“That’s great.” You smile, genuinely happy to hear about Erika. “Why two, though?” 

“I didn’t want them to be lonely.” Vash scoffs before getting up to retrieve his freshly-brewed coffee from the font counter. 

Ah, so it was his idea. For someone with such a mean face, he sure has a surprising caring streak. You take another sip of your tea and feel yourself relax, noticing your natural smile has been coming to you more easily lately. You take a few more sips, finishing off your beverage as Vash makes his way back. “Are you free next week?” 

Vash returns to his seat, coffee and sugar in hand. “I may have some time.” 

“Great, you and Erika can come over and meet Eliza, you’ll love her. I’ll practice playing piano while you all help yourself to our snack pantry."

“Snacks?” Vash perks up at that. There are few people more enthusiastic about free food than Vash. 

You grin deviously. “But only if you have time, of course.”

Vash scoffs again, this time his happiness apparent. “Don’t think you can just buy me back with free snacks.” 

“I’d never insult you like that, only the best for my friends. Did I mention we have cheese?” 

You and Vash share an earnest laugh for the second time that evening. You are far from being the ideal friend, though the thought of the challenge excites you somewhat. You’ve never been the kind to shy away from hard work, and have always been eager to prove yourself against unfavorable odds. Maybe high school really wouldn’t be so bad.

The rest of the evening played out well, full of idle conversation and more laughter. You can’t pinpoint exactly what makes casual conversations with friends so starkly different than their formal counterparts, you’re only certain that today has highlighted the fact that you definitely need some practice with the former. Relaxing among friends is still new to you, but you’re gradually getting used to letting loose when possible.

You learned more about Vash’s future high school, Erika’s hobbies, the gist of what the Zwingli parents are up to. You tried to steer clear of the subject, not wanting to taint your outing with business talk. Vash went on about some of his tech-related experiments, something along the lines of coding and hacking and making apps, subjects that admittedly go way over your head but that you enjoy hearing about anyway. The Edelstein part of your mind insists on keeping him close because he may be a valuable asset in the future, while the Roderich part wants to be his friend for the sake of friendship itself. Two halves in a constant feud; leaving you exhausted long before the end of the day. Physical proof that you’re not used to switching your ‘ideal son’ persona on and off so often. 

Before you and Vash part ways you make sure to schedule solid plans for the following weekend. Just a ‘hangout session,’ as Eliza puts it. No real agenda other than to socialize for the sake of socializing. The point of it still confuses you- or rather, triggers your anxiety ever so slightly; the feeling of unease, lack of productivity, of having a solid goal, but hell if you’re incapable of learning anything you set your mind to. With a firm handshake you and Vash solidify your rekindled friendship and part ways, optimistic and hopeful.

You thank your Uber driver and review your ride almost immediately upon exiting the car, making sure to add a generous tip for his service. You never forget to compensate others for their hard work. 

The short walk into your doorstep passes in an instant, nothing more then an action carried out by muscle memory as your mind wanders to more pressing issues. Making the best of an unideal school, controlling the anxiety surrounding a new friendship, mentally going over the assignments your parents have given you. You have a hunch a big new project is coming soon, if the amount of extra training and research your parents have assigned you are any indications. 

You rifle aimlessly through the mail on the dining room table, finding a way to keep your hands busy until Eliza arrives from her self defense class shortly. You’re glad she’s found new hobbies in your city, considering how poor her final soccer practice went. You start to get lost in the comfort that always accompanies thinking about Eliza, until your train of thought is abruptly interrupted by a noticeably dated brochure among the new mail. 

You cautiously pull it from under the pile of envelopes and magazines and inspect its contents with a knot in your throat. You’re reading it wrong. You’re exhausted. You’re not thinking straight.

Your body begs for oxygen. 

Abruptly, violently, your breathing goes from stagnant to frantic. 

Like being burnt by a raging flame, you drop the pamphlet with lightning speed. 

There has to be some sort of explanation. Something logical, something within reason. Some laughable misunderstanding. 

You will you hands to stop shaking. You will them over and over again- commanding, then bargaining with your own body to listen to your directions. Desperate for any illusion of control even if reality promises anything but. 

Little by little, your mosaic vision begins to sharpen once again. Seconds, minutes, maybe even an hour has passed; you have no idea, nor do you care. You quickly begin to go over the events of the past months, every interaction with your parents, with classmates, with teachers. When did you become so careless? 

Despite all your best efforts, the dreadfully unforgettable, nauseating phrase plastered across the front of the brochure fails to leave the forefront of your thoughts. 

Reparative Therapy 

The familiar jingle of keys outside the front door summons a sense of merciless revulsion through every inch of your being. Your dread has a vice grip on your motor skills; there is nothing you can do but stand eerily still, doomed to stew in your fear. 

“I’m home!” Eliza announces, her voice alone freeing you from the shackles of your own body. 

“Eliza.” You manage weakly, as tears pour down your face seemingly on command. 

“Rod?” She swiftly locks the door behind her and rushes to your side. Her gentle tone a guiding light in your self-made darkness. 

You can’t summon any words. Unable to trust your own body, you opt to silently lean your head on her shoulder and vaguely gesture towards the tabletop. 

Eliza takes one of your hands in hers and reaches for the accursed brochure. “This is… exactly what I think it is, isn’t it?” 

“I messed up, Eliza.” You bury yourself deeper into her shoulder. Hiding makes it easier to speak. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. This doesn’t mean anything for sure, have they bought it up before?” 

“Not like this. Not so blatantly- blatant for them, at least.” 

“Let’s sit down.” She carefully guides you to the floor, hands still intertwined. 

You each lean against a leg of the table; she runs her thumb over your hand while you take a few moments to regain your composure. 

“I doubt they’ll talk to me about this. It’s just meant to gauge me.” 

“It’s just a threat, then? What are the chances they’ll actually send you away?” Eliza leans over her crossed legs and looks at you with curiosity mixed with concern. 

“It’s the implication, Eliza. It means they’re catching on. I don’t know exactly when, but it means that if I keep it up, they will. My parents aren’t the kind to not follow through.” You clench your arm with your empty hand, mind half focused on skimming through your behavior the last few months once again, this time with a clear head. There has to be something that gave it away. Some slip-up- you’ve been so careful. 

“I just can’t think of any way they’d know.” She voices your thoughts. 

“That’s what’s getting to me. How can I know how to be more careful when I don’t even know where I slipped up?” You let your head fall back against the cool, stable wood of the table. You’ve been more happy. You’ve been more yourself, was all you could identify. Was that really all it took for them to become suspicious? 

Eliza squeezes your hand in earnest, the simple gesture conveying emotions that mere words could never come close to doing justice. 

And in that moment you are reminded- the most simple yet powerful fact of the situation. 

You are no longer alone. 

“Anything you need, Rod.” Eliza affirms. The Edelstein burden is no longer yours to solely bear. You close your eyes and think. Calmly, logically, with precision. Your parents had somehow caught on to a scent that needed to be destroyed, obliterated beyond recognition. You only know of conversion therapy because of Eliza and her guidance through the confusing world of teen sexuality. Had you come across the brochure a year ago it wouldn’t have caused even a blip in your day. You may have even discarded it without a second thought, writing it off as some sort of junk mail. From what you remember, there was no space for postage on the cover, and the brochure wouldn’t have fit in a standard envelope, which leads you to believe that it was strategically placed in a location you frequent. A test, a warning, a conversation, even.

Now, it was your turn to respond. 

Your name is Roderich Edelstein and you are a survivor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a mood shift for this chapter. [MILD SPOILER] There will be a short timeskip between this chapter in the next, but more importantly, finally Roderich and Gil will meet! Thanks for hanging in there, now the fun teen romance shenanigans will begin :3
> 
> Also, I try really hard to include little references to the anime/comic throughout the story while keeping this narrative solid in and of itself. Please let me know what you think, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I have the whole story planned out for this one which should come out to about 50k or so words, I just need to go back and beef up the chapters. Feedback of any sort is appreciated, please leave a kudos and/or comment if you like it so far!


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